The drooling curiosity of fragile sensation
Drugs, alcohol, insomnia, depression
Drowned in the smoke of shame and insult
Driving the joy of fun and fashion
Submerged under the cruelty of unknown cult
With carnivorous companions
A kind and wise request
Please purify your mind
With the tears of joy and fresh scent
To drain out all the memories of repent..

Some are born into this world
To either win or lose
It all depends on where you land
Inside that attitude

You can whine and cry, roll your eyes
But why not try something new
It may sound upside down or inside out
The happy-go-lucky blues

As a teen you try your best to angst
Cause that's just what teenagers do
Not sure what it is but you know that
You've got something to prove

Of course you hate your parents
And all they put you through
To you life bites so why not try
The happy-go-lucky blues

It's not like you ever change your mind
That's what we all expect from you
But this time try and keep it light
You'll be surprised what that can do

I can almost guarantee, believe you me
You're going to like this new you
It may sound odd but it's really not
The happy-go-lucky blues

She's taken your body wash, and used it without permission.
She's used it twice before and
presumed it would be fine to take it again.

You never gave consent.
You even said No.

She's used it twice before so what's a third time,
or a fourth or even a fifth,
she's just hoping you won't snitch and tell someone
she stole something from you...
Your confidence or your peach shampoo?

She lied about the temperature of the bath water,
you were supposed to drown
before you felt the heat,
but you didn't and now you're
tearing your skin to shreds,
Self-destruction on the first date,
how sweet.

She wants you to wash your mouth out,
you said something you shouldn't and now she's mad,
feeling sorry for you is in the past,
the new thing is drowning you in the bath.

Your heads now under water,
feet kicking the floor.
She's doused you with her perfume,
just to see you choke against the wooden frame of the door.

i want my poems to have teeth.  
i want my words to cut,
to maim, to bleed.
with verses, i will raze
empires. with stanzas,
i will turn thrones to dust.
with nothing but a bit
of silver on my tongue,
i will take the life of god.

i’ll ply that same *****
like honey, taste the sweet
nothings dripping
between knocking knees.
quake and quiver for me,
let me slip, furtive
as nightshade
to sate your curiosity.

feel the weight of veracity
in these fingers patiently
transcribing forgotten melodies,
compressing ivory keys
to sing of all that was lost
and what was gained
from the process.

I miss you
And you aren’t even gone yet
From experience
I know how this will end

One day you will find someone new
Meet someone funnier; prettier
You’ll slowly slip away
All while denying anything is wrong

When you look into her eyes
You will see a future
When you look in my eyes
You see lust and desire

There is no future for us here
so why do I let myself fall in love anyway?

Grab a feather
                                            Open your soul.

Grab some paper
                                         Make it your own.

And a small feather
                                             Shall be a brush,

And a small paper
                                        Your poems' canvas.

We are elaborate animals made of wood
earth, flowing like water into the veins
of the sky.

The sun being a fist of lava, and the night
being an enticing molar—we are
a succession of tides, being swallowed
by successions of day; and how beautifully
we wilt in the presence of joy.

The moon may be nothing
but a luminous
stone

and to eat the poetry of it
is how one chokes
on love

but the romance of morning
is that if by midnight
you are alive, that is joy.

Crushed flowers are beautiful,
dried, pressed
not useful but certainly nice to look at
My sister affectionately called me a 'delicate little flower' one of the many times you made me break down, crushed from false accusation
until i eventually dried up
pressed myself until the pain no longer hurt.
I wondered why i had become such a fragile thing
shouldn't heartbreak build you up, a learning experience rather than reducing you to a few petals and a stem.
i feel more like a tree
green and great during the warm summer months
unaware of the freezing winter winds that will blow away all my protective leaves. barren. cold.
i hope someday i will become evergreen
beautiful, tall, luscious and full- pine or cedar or spruce
staying fragrant all year round

but for now i remain a daisy
nothing special
dried, pressed and crushed between these pages, within these words.